Falling for Her
by QueenRae
Summary: Falling For Her Clato Fanfiction ｛&all I loved, I loved alone—for it was not into my ear you whispered but my heart, and not my lips you kissed but my soul.｝
1. Prologue

_｛&all I loved, I loved alone—for it was not into my ear you whispered but my heart, and not my lips you kissed but my soul.｝ _

…

My hands brushed the sharp edge of the sword, its silver surface reflecting my emotionless expression. In it, I see a handsome face with defined features. A straight nose, a square, hard jaw, full lips pressed into a hard, grim line. Eyes that are a peculiar shade of clear light blue that stand out against my tanned skin tone earned the many days spent training for death, slaughter, to be a toy used to keep things the way Snow wants us to be. Or as they call it—ah, the Hunger Games. Watch your back, Panem.

My grip on the sword handle tightens as I slash the foam dummies, chopping off their bodies easily with my strong build, relishing the thud of the imitation body parts falling to the ground. I am tall, strong, and lethal, not afraid of how many lives it takes to get what I want. Here, we are trained to kill twenty three and survive natural causes of death as well, to be trained to not fear, but to be feared of. Power like that is what many long for.

The academy is a hard building to miss, not because of the impressive masonry work done to honor tributes, as we are from District Two, but mostly because it isn't somewhere one would want to end up in, really. Many others train here, yet not many make it out of the arena. But I am prepared.

"Cato!" Her voice pierces the air. Savera's curvy figure walks in through the door, her expression the usual—flirty and wanting. I can't say I am a respectable man, but I don't feel sorry at all. Women, they're not someone, they are something, and I have my needs. When I'm tired of playing around with one, I get another. So you can call Savera my toy, because there's only few girls I haven't slept with in the Academy, and they won't resist for long, because sooner or later I'll make them beg.

As soon as she enters, she sets down her bag and runs over to me, her hands grasping over my arm when I set down my sword, the heads and arms of multiple dummies rolling on the worn gray floor. I can see the other girls whispering, no doubt wondering if I would become serious with Savera. Much to their dissatisfaction, or rather, Savera's disappointment, I don't do together, because my relationships have never been the sentimental type; it was more physical, more of the much needed contact than talk, or feelings, which was such a joke of a word.

So I ignore Savera, because someone more worthy of my attention had just entered. Clove, her name was. She was petite for her age and stubborn, within those cold grey eyes fringed by long black eyelashes that were almost green, there was a fire of determination and anger. Her black hair was neatly braided into a high ponytail on the back of her head, contrasting against her marble porcelain skin; freckles sprinkled lightly across the bridge of her nose that was small and curved with lips that were full and inviting. She was wearing the maroon training tank top that was sturdily laced across her back. Where it did not cover, you could see scars that had never fully healed etched across her body. Black leggings led to slim, leather combat boots that almost reached her knees.

Clove and I were never the image of people who got along. An aura of challenge and arrogance always followed her, despite her petite size, and her eyes glinted with defiance. She was quick and unforgiving, smart but also very hot-headed. While I shared her large ego and impulsive temperament, it stopped right there. What I lacked for speed I built up with vigorous strength, with smartness, ignorant pride, and grudges were something I only held until I had the satisfaction of returning the favor.

Thanks to my senseless asshole of a trainer, I also happen to have Clove as my training partner, resulting in much loss of blood, many scars and bruises, and an everlasting death competition against an arrogant knife-obsessed know it all. The good thing is that I at least have fun seeing her in rage and pain. After all, a girl who can throw as good as Clove probably doesn't even exist in District Two. When I defeat her, I'm as good as victor in the games. But I'm not going to let her go so fast— I'll make her sorry she ever stood up to me, that she ever thought she could beat me. I won't let her have a chance.

"Clove." I yell, a smirk playing at my lips as I walk over to her, teasing her by seeming like I had to bend down in order to see her face. "Need help with something? A little girl like you should spend more time training."

Suddenly, she yanks her knife out of her left boot, holding the cruelly curved blade at my throat, her face inches from mine.

"Don't you dare try to pull off the 'little girl' thing again or I swear I will scar your so-called pretty face." she whispered harshly.

I grinned and backed away so I was standing up straight in my full 6'2 as if to again show that I am more superior than her 5'4, pretending to be impressed when her knife hit the center of the moving target. Clove glared at me, then blinked innocently.

"Watch out, Cato." she says sweetly, her voice dripping with her usual sarcasm. "I never miss. You wouldn't want to be the next target."


	2. Anguished Desires

_｛&all I loved, I loved alone—for it was not into my ear you whispered but my heart, and not my lips you kissed but my soul.｝_

…

A gasp escapes from my lips as stingy cold water runs down my bare back, drenching my dark blonde hair and pouring down on me, awaking my senses that had been sluggish from sleep.

I reach for the white luxury towels that smelled like lavender mother keeps hanging in every bathroom, and carelessly dry myself clean, leaving my hair in a messy, tousled state.

The cool winter light filters through the windows, into the empty house. As they reflect on my eyes, the light blue orbs seem like shattered ice, the bloodthirsty gaze trapped inside the coldness.

My eyes flitted to my reflection in the large mirror that was hung onto the wall, staring back at it menacingly, as if I hated the thought of it, eyes hovering over myself as a whole before turning away. Pulling the maroon training attire over my head, I could sense the sharp scent of female on it, undoubtedly lingering from last night's activities, and the blood that I had viciously carved from her skin, longing for their anguished cries of pleasure and pain.

Since my mother and father were both victors, they therefore live in a huge house, with expensive furniture and food, as well as anything a victor could possibly want. And as the only child of the household, naturally my parents also want me to take after them and become a victor, in riches and honor.

Yet, I don't train for them, it's all about pride, it's all about how there are so many ways to torture those that I am not fond of with death, how I am able to see the fear in their eyes and hear the satisfying shriek, the snapping of the bone, bathed in their blood and fear.

The academy is not a very fond place in other's eyes, but to me, It is a useful place. It makes me stronger, because those who walk out of the District Two academy are revered, respected. As long as I win the games, I will do whatever it takes, not for honor, for just the look in their eyes when they are about to die, I would kill.

Breakfast was simple and rushed, with eggs, a few sausages and an apple. The door slams behind me as I run out of my house in the victor's village, my breath billowing in white wisps in the winter air.

A smirk crawls onto my face when I see a small figure walking on the deserted road to the Academy, her attire dressed for summer rather than winter— a maroon laced tank and knee-length combat boots, with three knives tucked in her belt at her hip. Her eyebrows knit in concentration, the sunlight glowing on her pale complexion as she paces, and I smirk at the thought of her.

From the way her gray green eyes flicker, I know she's noticed she's not alone.

Her pupils dilate, and she hisses aggressively as her small hand instinctively slinks to the handle of one of her knives.

"Of all the audacious, brawny morons." she mutters, her words hard and rough, her gaze steady and of no emotion.

"You can let go of the knives, they'll be no good when I break you," I growl, my eyes meeting hers for an instant.

"And since when are you so observant?"

"Since I don't give a fuck."

I neglect the fact that she is capable as for being my training partner even with her age and height, because partner or not, there is always an unspoken war between us.

She gives me a blatant stare as we rushed in the towering steel doors of the Academy gym. Conversation here was terse and brusque, instead the silence was filled with thuds of weapons, grunts of concentration, or perhaps low snarls of threats.

I watch as she takes the serrated blade out of her belt, twisting the handle casually as our trainer, Ivo, orated for the millionth time how her approach to others would earn her nothing in the future, giving District Two was usually part of the Careers. Shrugging, I twirled my sword nonchalantly as I listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Clove isn't approaching life like a bitch, she just is one. Okay, Ivo?" This sentence earns me a unappreciative glower from the petite brunette, which I return with a stare of equal hatred, of equal challenge.

Ivo shrugs and shakes his head as if we aren't there, muttering under his breath. "Clove, stop staring daggers at Cato. This is what I was mentioning earlier if you weren't listening."

"It's okay," A smirk tugs at my lips, raising one eyebrow in amusement at Clove. "I've been told I'm very attractive."

Clove's face filled with irritation, but soon turns into pure aggravation when I break the last straw by adding, 'little girl' at the end.

I react a second too late as the blade pierces my arm. Though bringing little pain, it infuriates me, and I slam her to the wall, a rack of vicious weapons clattering on the floor.

"What was that?" I snarl, her face inches from mine. I feel her soft breaths on my neck as a sadistic smile appears on her seemingly placid face. I want to break her.

"I don't have time for this, Cato." she whispered. Her eyes narrowed in anger that pulsed from her fragile body.

"If you want to vent on your own fucking problems," she hisses, "then go fuck your little sluts."

What angers me is not that she enjoys the insults she throws at me time and time again, or the fact that she enjoys my pain and my anger— perhaps it is simply because I cannot bring her to pain internally, in a way that she would fall to the floor and shatter like a mirror in the fragile way that I want her.

I shove her to the ground with as much force as I can muster, my shadow looming over her small figure, my face twisted in a way that brought a flicker of amusement in her dark orbs. How I longed to have the power to crush it, like I would when I crush every bone in her body and watch her beg for mercy.

But I know she won't back down. Because she's here, at the academy isn't she? The one thing that I can find in common is that we are both hollow, our body only living to taste the blood of our victims, because we fill the abyss in our hearts with unsatisfying hunger that burns like a fire.

**Sorry, another short chapter. I promise they'll get longer, and I'll try to get them finished sooner but I am a terrible writer so that's going to be quite difficult. Thank you for the reviews! I love you guys. **


	3. It's All in Your Mind

Right from the start

You were a thief

You stole my heart

And I your willing victim

I let you see the parts of me

That weren't all that pretty

And with every touch you fixed them

Just Give me a Reason, The Truth about Love; P!nk

...

I see the faint trail of air escapes from the part in her full lips that tells me that she is surely alive, the sharp edge in her eyes which contain no small amount of hostility tells me that no, she isn't intimidated by my roar of an outburst. I ignore the stares of the surrounding, their eyes resting on the two top trainees, flinching at every contact, at every move. My eyes scour hers, for just a moment, searching for the wanted weakness as she firmly grips her beloved knives, her tense knuckles turning white at the pressure as she raises her head.

My hand equally clenches onto the metal sword that has also brought many unforgiving wounds. It's clear that Clove is not going to give up, as if my anger had sparked her determination, which I hated most. When I leaned close enough, I could see the freckles that sprinkled across the bridge of her nose, if I tried, I could smell her equal hunger for my death, just faintly on her every time we fought our battles that never seemed to end, hidden in the innocent scent of flowers that trailed her, trapped in her aura of ice that was fire.

"Clove."

She doesn't answer me, her full lips clenched as she stares back, her fair green eyes void of emotion that held the faintest specks of gold.

"You have a real talent for pissing me off."

Which she scoffs at, her dark chocolate locks falling to her shoulders as she raised a knife to my face, the blade close to piercing the skin. I smirk as she undoubtedly imagines what my face will look like when she presses a little harder. My hand reaches to her small wrist, feeling the soft skin against my calloused hands before I turn the knife back to her, against her neck, feeling her indignation burning into my eyes.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, princess."

"Because you're a moron that's going to die when you volunteer, who, if was put in the body of a small girl would be afraid of the brainless idiot standing in front of her. So fuck off."

Fury flashes through my eyes, but instead a grim, sickly smile is plastered on my face as I slowly turn my head sideways, hot blood rushing to my face as she wipes the beautiful red liquid off the faint piercing indent my sword left in her neck. Her footsteps echo as I feel her hands on my chest, pushing me away, picking up her fallen knife. And I can't believe I let her.

Whispers sailed from mouths, trainers nodded at the short, brutal confrontation. No doubt we will be shipped off to the blood bath known as the Hunger Games, in which I will enjoy every moment of tearing her from limb to limb, savoring her blood, smiling at her chilling screams. The collection of scars she leaves on her marble white skin will be mercilessly added to.

Some wonder why I want her dead so badly. It is because her presence has already left a mark, a scar on me that will not go away. The fact that she is right drives a hatred within me. I need to vent my anger, or it boils into something worse.

Sweat trickles down my broad shoulders, dampening my bright blonde hair. I tear away Savena from her crowd of chattering friends, my lips pushing roughly on hers, biting, drawing blood from the soft skin. We get to the house in merely minutes, my house's tall shadow looming upon us as we clumsily fumble inside.

It takes only seconds to undress before I grope at her breasts, soft moans uttering from her lips as she nibbles on my ear. Pleasure fills me as she fits me into her tiny mouth, but it's not enough as I claw at her hair, relishing the soft gasp that is released as I pound into her, hard against the white walls that now bear a faint trail of my blood. But, when I imagine Clove instead of Savera, I see her malicious eyes begging me to give her pain. If only I could hear the agony in her voice when I destroy her.

Savera leaves quickly after we finish. There's not much that I want with her afterwards, even if it means I get to tear that stupid red lingerie that she always wears.

The wood creaks as I open the cupboard of fine District Two wine, dressed in a fine, clear bottle, a remedy for my burning desire, a temporary one.

The spicy liquid soothes my consciousness, and drives my mind elsewhere, away from thoughts of the bitch that now seems to be the cause of all my fury. Her grey-green eyes sparkling with challenge arouses my anger, her sickly laugh ringing through my ears brings me hatred that, like her, never leaves me.

In my dreams she haunts me, and in the day she carves scars onto my skin, but I'll wait. Until the very moment when she begs me to let her go, when I crush her stubborn, vicious spirit.

...

Wow! Another very short chapter in a month! This is so terrible I am considering dropping this. Sorry, just another emotional, tense chapter.


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